


Crashing World

by fizzinq



Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: Gen, RDR2, good ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-09-18 01:43:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16985736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fizzinq/pseuds/fizzinq
Summary: After years and years of wilting into the shadows, Arthur was finally able to bask in the sunlight.





	Crashing World

**Author's Note:**

> i’ve never played rdr but my friend sage really likes it and the ending is. god it sure is emotion  
> sorry if there are inaccuracies or mistakes i’m Trying 😔

Arthur heard the men who stood above him separate.

Dutch van der Linde - the leader of their gang, and the man who had given Arthur everything he wanted while taking everything he needed right out from under his nose - stepped slowly away towards the south. Dutch had been part of Arthur’s everything; him and his partner in crime, Hosea, had practically raised Arthur from the ground up. However, this upbringing ended up translating to Arthur learning how to use a gun at the age of 14 and a lot of illegally acquired property. Arthur had never really had a problem with it; he’d heard all sorts of stories about outlaws as a child, about running with the buffalo in the West, about quick-draw duels in the main square. But something in his head nagged him, told him that something was wrong. He discovered only now that the wrong thing was Dutch.

Micah Bell - the gang’s soot-covered sheep - stressed out a frustrated groan and huffed off to the north. Arthur had seen Micah since his first day in the gang, and had been suspicious of him since then. His unpredictability was extremely predictable; he never put thought into anything. Hell, the only thing he ever put thought into was himself. He’d turned on everyone in the gang separately, somehow, taking the life debt that Dutch owed him and using it as a pass to do whatever he wanted. And somehow, Arthur - and the rest of the Van Der Linde gang - had let him get away with it, to this point.

Arthur’s whole body ached. His head was bleeding profusely; his vision was blurred, one of his eyes already squeezing shut from a shiner; his lungs were finally truly failing, and he’d been thrown on his back, knocking a majority of the wind out of him; and his ribs and chest stung with a pain he wasn’t sure was a result of the sickness he’d encountered. His breath was shallow. He wasn’t sure how long he’d make it. Probably not very long; not long enough to restore his breath.

He decided to make the best of it.

Some horrible, primitive voice told him to get up and move. So, Arthur heaved his battered, broken body onto his forearms, a wheeze squeezing out of him as he settled. His view caught up with his position, and he started to move - slowly, but surely - towards a stout rock that protruded closer to the end of the cliff.

Every movement felt like another injury. Every pull of a muscle, every time his fist hit the stone surface, even every breath felt like a dangerous move to make. He coughed, watching blood drip from his mouth to underneath him, and kept moving. It felt like an eternity, but eventually, he found his way to the rock. He flung his body against it, and took another deep breath.

A light peeked over the horizon. Arthur lolled his head towards the source. Somehow, he’d ridden all night; the sun was rising.

He watched it, for a while. Despite all of that work, all of those disastrous ends, all of the death and destruction that flickered past his fogged-over eyes, the sun still rose again the next morning. The world reset as normal, no matter what happened. He never really paid attention to that until now.

His breathing shallowed.

He thought on it farther. All his life, he’d been living in shadow; all his life, he’d been hiding. He’d been stalking in midnights and protecting himself from the law since he was able to do things for his own. He’d never really had the opportunity to see the world this extensively. After years and years of wilting into the shadows, Arthur was finally able to bask in the sunlight.

His breathing shallowed farther. He heard a voice.

“Arthur? Is that you, Arthur?” It was familiar; aged, and genuine. It spoke softly, but not in volume - in gentilesse.

“Yeh,” he replied. He did not say this aloud, but it seemed not to matter to the other. “‘S me.”

The voice made a sound, some disappointed sigh. “I wish you hadn’t come this early. You had so much more to do,” it stated. It didn’t seem disappointed in him. In fact, it seemed almost resigned to the fate.

“It was my time,” Arthur said. “Can’t help it.” The light got a little bit brighter.

“Well, I suppose it comes to all of us when it’s scheduled to. Not much we can do about it, huh, Arthur?”

“Nope... Nothin’.”

Silence. Arthur’s breathing shallowed even farther. Something in him felt... Happy. No, not happy. Contented.

He was not able to remain unshaken, no. In fact, his world and himself had been violently rocked, and everything had fallen and shattered on contact. But now, the dust had settled; there was one small space left untouched by the broken pieces where Arthur could stand. In his head, he saw the figure of an old man with silver in his hair and a lit fuse’s sparkle in his eye, standing where nothing touched, smiling wide at him. He offered a hand to help him over to the clean platform.

“Come with me, Arthur. I’ll get you to somewhere you’ll be safe.”

Arthur’s face, warmed from the sunlight, stretched into a weak smile back. His chest rose as, in his mind, he took the hand.

“...Thanks, Hosea.”

His chest fell and stayed.


End file.
